Angel With A Shotgun
by Tiffsrae3
Summary: Agent Thirteen was doing just fine before Captain America came into her life. Everything changed when the two were forced to go on a mission together. Still, all that seemed normal before the aliens attacked Manhattan. Set after the movie, but with characters from the comics.
1. Chapter 1

**New Story. I started writing this right after I saw the movie for the first time (I've seen it three times) and just now decided to publish it. The character of Agent Thirteen is a creation of Marvel, as is every other character. So I own nothing. Sad day. Enjoy!**

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Hips swinging and black boots clipping on linoleum floors meant the arrival of none other than Agent 13. The mysterious, infamous Agent 13. All that was known of her was she was good, really good, at her job: espionage and fighting. Well, the fighting wasn't part of the job, per say, but espionage usually led to fighting, so one had to be ready.

Her blonde hair was tied into a ponytail, the long beachy waves cascading in a thin strip down her back. She wore tight black jeans, black leather boots and a purple tank top, revealing some and still not revealing anything at the same time. With blue eyes sparkling and shining, reflecting the white floors and walls of the hellicarrier, she met-and caught-every eye on the way to the head of the ship.

Her escorts, six armed S.H.I.E.L.D agents with very large and intimidating guns, clicked along in rhythm with her footsteps. She knew them, all of them, actually. In fact, she had been on a mission with all of them just a few short hours before. But, in the midst of all the chaos, they took her in. For what, she didn't know. However, once Fury makes a decision, there's no other say.

Speaking of Fury, he stood before her, black cape, eye-patch, and all. He seemed like he was in a huff, angry due to either his lack of love life or another stream of aliens trying to take over Earth. Agent 13 guessed the latter.

"Ahh. Agent 13. We finally meet again. Its been too long: three years."

"No offense, Director, but I was in the middle of a mission."

"No need to worry about that."

"No need to worry? My cover was blown! You should be expecting Germany to come knocking down the US's door, demanding World War III any minute now."

"Agent. Silence. Please." he demanded, a tone of disapproval very evident in his voice. She shut her mouth immediately.

"We have another mission for you, thirteen." He walked away toward the control center, typing a few buttons on the console in the process, making words and pictures jump to life on the control center screen.

She recognized the face that repeated itself in all the pictures. "Captain America? But he died eighty years ago. Frozen in some block of ice."

"Why do you say that?" The voice wasn't that of Fury's, but actually a tall, blond haired, blue eyed man, wearing a tan leather flight jacket, a white tee-shirt and khakis. His gaze met hers for two, maybe three seconds, until he broke away. His cheeks reddened and he seemed flustered-he obviously didn't have much of a game with women. He didn't seem to be one of her seniors, but she answered him anyway.

"Well, his plane went off the radar somewhere in the North Atlantic. He either died on impact or froze to death in a block of ice. This was all in his records; I can't be the only one who knows this."

"Interesting, ma'am." said the mystery man making, and keeping, eye contact with Thirteen while Fury went on with his briefing.

"Captain America is not dead." This came as a bit of a surprise to Thirteen, but no one else seemed to be shocked.

"Then where has he been for the past eighty years?"

"Captain America was frozen in a block of ice-frozen in suspended animation."

"Suspended Animation? You actually believe that cra-?"

"Seeing as how S.H.I.E.L.D agents found him, I do believe it." Fury said with a definite tone in his voice-things were either seen his way or no way at all.

"And when did this happen?" Thirteen asked in spite of already halfway knowing the answer. The other agents were too used to this topic, they had to have had time to let this enormous news sink in. One, maybe two years tops.

"Three years ago." The mystery man said. It seemed that everyone but Thirteen had expected him to answer. The way his voice sounded, guilty with a side of sadness, surprised Thirteen. She didn't expect the man in beige to have such deep-seeded feeling about a superhero.

"I'm sorry," she said to the man who would not stop staring. "Who exactly are you?"

He wasn't the one to answer. In fact, he actually looked to Fury, just to check if he could answer. "He's Captain Rogers."

Being a spy, she was trained in not letting her emotions run her reasoning, or even showing on her face. Despite this, however, her jaw dropped a smidge, her eyes popped open, falling onto the Captain himself, along with her eyebrows raising, signifying her shock.

"You're Captain America?" she asked, her voice shaking due to her shock. He was supposed to be dead. He was the reason America lost her hope. And he had the _nerve_ to come back, expecting the world-the America-he knew to be the same wholesome place he left it? How _dare_ he.

"Yes, ma'am. But you can call me Steve, miss." Smiling his bright smile at her, he extended his arm in an offering. She walked over to him, ignoring his hand, and, in a fit of pure spontaneity, punched him right in the kisser. "That's for everyone you let down when you left." I spat at the hero.

The room burst out in an uproar. Every agent in the vicinity jumped to their feet in a huff, yelling at the agent who dared harm the symbol of patriotism. Fury was in a fury, shouting at Agent 13 to "calmly back away from the superhero."

She did as she was ordered, and walked to Fury's side. He glared at her with his eye, also shaking his head in obvious disapproval.

"You know I don't approve when you do that."

"Someone had to show him it's not 1945 anymore."

"Are you okay, Captain?" said an unknown agent somewhere in the audience. Typical fan.

"Perfectly alright. I deserved it. I'd take a look at your hand though, miss. You appear to be bleeding." He seemed to be right, unfortunately, because as she looked at her knuckles, she noticed the dark, crimson red of blood staining her pale, white skin. She blushed and started to feel guilty. Even after punching him, just to show him who's boss, he cared about her well-being. Well, Wonderboy certainly had a good reputation for a reason. She'd have to apologize later, however. Didn't want the other agents to think she was weak.

"Just a scratch." she mumbled. "Back to the mission, Director? What exactly is it? And when will I be leaving?"

"You and your _new partner_ will be leaving in the morning for Germany-"

"New partner...? I thought I made it clear that I don't work well with others? I mean, I thought that we gave up on trying to get me to socialize with the other agents. I'm a solo act. I'm sure I can do the job on my own, Director. You can tell the poor shmuck that gets to be my partner that they can go on vacation. They'll just slow me down."

Wonderboy came over to join in on the conversation, steering clear of Thirteen and her "spontaneous rage."

"No, Thirteen. You and Captain Rogers are needed in Germany tomorrow morning."

"Him? Really?" she asked incredulously. She looked him over once more. He looked like he was in top physical condition for a man of his age. And he was rather good-looking. She could get used to seeing those blue eyes every morning when she woke up. He stared right back at her, giving her a look that made it hard for her to decipher. He seemed like he was perfectly fine with her, even though she punched him, literally two minutes before. This was just a trick. She knew that. She'd been in this business too long to know when someone was plotting sweet, sweet revenge.

"We need the both of you because of your extensive knowledge on Germany and what goes on inside her borders. The Captain and you are the only members of S.H.I.E.L.D who have ever spent years inside Germany, and we need information on a terrorist organization called the Red Skull. With your espionage skills and his, well, superpowers, the two of you should be able to get the job done in record time. Then you, Thirteen, will be back to your hermit ways, and Captain Rogers will be back to saving the world."

"Get some rest, you two. The jet leaves at 700hours."

The two left in opposite directions, but it didn't mean they wouldn't end up in the same place later that night.

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**Please excuse every grammar mistake. I typed this on my phone. Next chapter should be up soon. **


	2. Chapter 2

**First and foremost, I've never read the comics but I love Thirteen and Steve together. Please don't get mad if my version of Thirteen is different than the comic Thirteen. Anyway, hope you guys enjoy this chapter!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything. It all belongs to Marvel (sadly). **

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She couldn't sleep a wink. The excitement of a new adventure, a new mission, was too much for her to handle. She had to vent somehow or another, however. So, she did it in the only way she knew how.

The arena, where agents learned to fight for their lives, wasn't usually a calming place. But for Thirteen it was. She understood that the endorphins made her feel not only better, but more relaxed as well.

It was midnight. Everyone else in the hellicarrier was supposed to be asleep, so she moved with absolute stealth through the halls.

She entered the arena in complete silence, making sure to shut the door before she turned on the extremely bright lights.

The arena, in its full glory, was an empty mess: wall paper tearing in various places, bleak and creepy light fixtures graced the ceilings, and the only color that was used was the very bright and cheery, beige.

Thirteen shrugged her duffle bag off of her left shoulder, resting it on a bench a few steps away from the punching bag.

She let the rhythm of her punches-one, one two, one, three four-to take her to a different place, a different time.

It was the summer before she turned sixteen. The summer before she started working for S.H.I.E.L.D. Her last summer as a normal human being. The day was any other ordinary day, but deep down, Thirteen understood its greatness. Her great aunt had just arrived home from the asylum. She was dying, the great war hero, and Thirteen's father paid as much as he could to have his sister home for her last days.

With the summer sun shining bright and high in the noon day sky, the limo skirted onto the Carter Manor driveway. The driver exited the vehicle, walking to the passenger side and opened the back door. The frail, old woman sat there, white hair glistening in the light. Her brown eyes, once filled with excitement and warmth were now dull and lifeless. Her great aunt Peggy was coming home to die, and everyone knew it, even her.

Thirteen stopped punching when she felt the atmosphere in the room change. The door she shut so carefully had been opened, and she wasn't as alone as she had been previously.

She spun around, leg lifting with her as the momentum pushed her, finally facing the stranger. But, he didn't allow her foot to even graze his face, because instead he caught her foot with his hand, barely an inch from his façade.

"Captain?" Thirteen exclaimed. She expected a superior, maybe director Fury or Hill. Most likely Hill, checking up on Thirteen, wondering if the agent was okay after three years of absence.

"Do you always resort to violence when you first meet someone or am I just lucky?" He quipped, taking Thirteen off-guard. Previously, she had assumed he didn't have much of "a game with women", but he seemed to be doing fine with her. And she knew how intimidating she could be.

"Sorry. Force of habit." She muttered. Their eyes met, icy blue on a clear blue ocean, her daggers on his calm visage. He gently released her leg, letting it drop to the ground.

"I didn't expect anyone else to be awake." He carried a duffle bag that resembled Thirteen's over his shoulder, absent-mindedly tugging at its various zippers and strings like a child trying to avoid something. Walking to the same bench her bag sat, he placed his down, taking out tape and binding his hands.

"Couldn't sleep. You?"

"Same. How's the hand, miss?" The Captain gestured to her tightly bound hand with a tip of his head.

"Like I said, it was just a scratch. And, since you brought it up, I just want to apologize. Sometimes I act before actually thinking things through. It's both a blessing and a curse. It seemed like the right thing to do, in the moment, but once I saw how you reacted, I regretted it."

"So it was a test to see how I would react to violence?"

"No. Not at all! Well, maybe it didn't start off that way, but it seems like that sounds better than the fact that I'm just impulsive. So, let's go with your idea."

"I accept your apology, Agent Thirteen." he smiled, showing off his pearly whites. She was somewhat dazzled by his confidence. "Now that we get the chance to do it, I would like to formally introduce myself, miss. I'm Steve Rogers." he held out his hand, again, just like before in hopes she would grasp it.

"I'm Agent Thirteen. Espionage agent for S.H.I.E.L.D."

"Nice to meet you, miss." He smiled again, she smiled back-her first smile in what felt like years.

He grasped her hand and they both shook. It was a traditional way of introducing themselves, but to them it seemed like it meant much more. They could feel the electricity igniting within their hands, a big ball of energy bursting to life due to their touch. She looked him in the eyes, noticing the sudden change in color on his face-the reddening of his cheeks and the takeover of black on blue in his eyes. Fearing something cute or romantic, Thirteen broke the physical connection, hoping to cut off every connection-chemical and sexual-in doing so.

"Do you come here too when you can't think?"

"I come here when I think too much." Was his reply. For some reason, she expected that one. Coming from the 40s and being suddenly placed in the 21st century, he had to have thoughts on everyone he used to his know. His friends, comrades, love interests. He had to know they were all dead. And that must be absolute torture. Being perfectly at piece and content one moment, to have all of that taken away and replaced by insanity the next.

"I'm sorry." Was all she said. Because really, what could she say. "I'll just leave you to your thoughts, then." She quickly added.

"No! Miss, stay. Please. You were here first. The gentlemanly thing to do is to give you what is rightfully yours." He walked back to his duffle bag and began un-binding his hands. He zipped it up and re-placed it over his shoulder. It wasn't until he reached the door that she opened her mouth.

"There's really no reason we both can't share. We both seem to need it." Little did she know she wasn't talking about the arena, but instead she was preaching about the company.

"Are you sure, Miss? I don't want to impose..."

"The only imposing that's been done is my fist on your jaw, so I kind of owe it to you." she sighed sarcastically. He didn't get it.

And so the two of them, side by side-chancing glances back and forth, hiding blushes-punched the living daylights out of their nightmares, barely tiring themselves out. But after some certain amount of minutes the couple was heading in separate directions, on the way to sweeter dreams.

_Crash_! She was abruptly interrupted from her thoughts by the sound of Steve's bag being punched off its sockets and landing with a loud thud on the far wall.

She looked at Steve with utter disbelief, staring back and forth between him and the wall. His face-filled with such rage and hatred, guilt and sadness-was scrunched up in pain. His eyes were closed and his nostrils flared, his chest heaving up and down.

"Are you okay?" she asked, placing her hands on the bag to stop it from swinging and, vicariously, from squeaking. He didn't answer. Thirteen asked a different question instead. "You miss it, don't you?"

She wasn't the touchy-feely kind of person most normal people were. She preferred to keep her emotions in check, and preferred those around her to do the same. But, for some reason, she was different around him. For some reason, she really cared.

"Oh, come on. You can trust me; I haven't tried to harm you in over an hour." This got him to smile.

Before, he had kept his eyes on the bag that was slumped on the wall farthest from them, but once she asked her questions, he looked her straight in the face. Their stare was steady. His cheeks did not redden, he did not drop his gaze, and he did not waver.

"I don't know why I miss it. I didn't use to fit in. You might not know this, but I was the little guy. I didn't exactly...look the same way I do now. But, now, if I still looked the same I'd be treated differently. The world is different than how it was when I left, some for the better, some for the worse; I just don't know why..."

"You don't miss the time. You miss the people. Your friends. Your family."

"That's just the thing. I had no family, and all of my friends died."

"Oh, come on. There had to be someone back then that you cared for." She knew the answer to the question he wouldn't reply to. Having the infamous Peggy Carter as her aunt, Thirteen had heard all of the stories of their time spent together. Peggy had really loved him, and she was sure he felt the same, but he had to be the "damn hero and save the damn world." It took Peggy years to come to terms with his assumed death, and years after that to start rebuilding her life. That's mostly what brought her to the brink of sanity and eventually sent her overboard. The Captain. Her Captain.

"There was one woman. I thought she was the one I'd been waiting for. She's long gone now. She was the first person I wanted to see when I got out, but it turns out she died ten years ago. I never had any luck with women, this just proves that even more."

She had never met a man who talked with such emotion and conviction. Therefore, she had no idea what to do to cheer him up. So she thought of what made her happy.

Violence.

"Come on. You need to vent out your frustrations. And not just on some stupid bag of sand." She added as he glanced toward the punching bag. "Come over here." Walking towards the empty space where agents sparred, she jumped up and down, exciting her endorphins and loosening her muscles all in one.

He walked over, eyes unsure of what he was really seeing. She wore nothing but a sports bra and Nike shorts, revealing way too much for his own comfort. Her hands and ankles were bandaged, making it impossible for more scratches just from contact with his skin.

"We're gonna spar. " He shook his head no, saying something about how he "won't fight a lady, miss." She wouldn't take no for an answer, however. And she could be very convincing. "You need to let out all of that pent up guilt and sadness and rage you have inside of yourself and just punch something. And, seeing as how you can't get enough satisfaction from punching bags, maybe you can if you have a human partner."

It took him a few minutes to give in, but eventually he agreed.

They both got into their stance: a few paces from each other, hands up in protective position, knees bent and feet dancing along on the floor. He sure wasn't going to throw the first punch-literally-so she stepped up-again, literally- and threw a "one, two, fake": she faked with her right fist, distracting him, then punched him with her left. Their skin did not make contact. He knew what she was doing and stopped her with the blunt of his arm. Blue on blue met. Next, she tried to side-swipe him; he deflected her again. He still hadn't laid a hand on her.

She knew she had to get on his nerves to really make him let go of his issues.

"My great aunt fights better than you and she's dead."

"I'm not going to hit a lady."

"Don't think of me as just a lady. I'm more than that." she spat, hoping the beloved captain would at least try to hit her. "I am every American who you let down. Every American who hated you when you came back. How dare you leave us to fend for ourselves, Captain. Didn't you know we needed a hero. We needed you and you took a vacation as a _capsicle_! And then you come waltzing back into our lives like you did nothing wrong, expecting us to worship you like we did before."

"I had to go down with the ship." he almost shouted. His voice sounded strained, like he was using everything he had not to punch her in the face and leave her cripples against the far wall like his punching bag. She knew she just had to say one more thing to unless the beast that had been so calm for three years.

"I bet that girl you were in love with cried herself to sleep for weeks, maybe years because you not only let this country down, but you let her down, too." And that was that. He finally snapped.

He came rushing at her so fast she ran into the far wall with fear. He was inches away from her now, and his fist was pulling back, ready to spring forward. He let it go, and she braced herself for the impact.

It never came, but the sound next to her left ear nearly busted her eardrums. He had hit the wall instead of her.

"I told you: I never hit a lady." he said, anger still evident on his tongue. He strode away to the bench where his duffle bag sat, unbound his hands, and walked through the door.

_Whoops,_ thought Thirteen. _Maybe I shouldn't have done that._

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**Hope you guys liked it! The next chapter will probably be up either tomorrow or the next day. Be patient! **


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